


Wicked Game

by tiger_moran



Series: Lyric [9]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Devotion, Don't copy to another site, Love, M/M, Referenced Drug Use, Self-Destruction, referenced Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27471244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_moran/pseuds/tiger_moran
Summary: Ninth in a collection of standalone but also interconnected Moriarty and Moran fics inspired by lyrics from songs, particularly pop/rock songs.
Relationships: Sebastian Moran/James Moriarty
Series: Lyric [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992709
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Wicked Game

**Author's Note:**

> Chris Isaak - Wicked Game
> 
> The world was on fire and no one could save me but you  
> It's strange what desire will make foolish people do  
> I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you  
> And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you

It is all falling apart around them, parts of their carefully constructed empire burning, and Moran is restless, pacing furiously, unable to settle.

“He cannot touch us,” Moriarty reminds him, trying to rest his hand on Moran's arm, but Moran brushes him aside.

“He believes he has proof enough to hang us both, and plenty of our associates too.”

“What Mr Holmes believes to be true and what is actually true are two entirely different matters.” Moriarty gives up his attempt to comfort Moran and sits himself down in his armchair, where he steeples his fingers together whilst watching the Colonel resume his pacing. “Even if he does have anything, you hired Patterson yourself, remember? Do you suddenly now doubt your judgement?”

Moran does not answer this save for with a grimace. Truly he is not sure of anything any more; too many of their associates have been rounded up already, and it is true, none of them are of any consequence and none know enough to implicate either of them, but the long arm of the law now seems to be reaching that bit too close for comfort. He believes Patterson, their plant within the depths of the police force itself, can be relied upon still to dispose of anything truly incriminating if ever Holmes truly does manage to dig anything up, but the whole situation leaves him unsettled. Once he might have gone out, found someone obliging and sought distraction through sex, but now he cannot even do that, and the Professor is clearly in no mood for it either. So he only remains restless, incapable of settling and committing himself to any particular task.

And yet the Professor remains oddly serene, as if he is at peace with this state of affairs. Despite everything he seems amused by Holmes' increasingly irritating but not actually truly damaging attempts to destroy him and his empire. He seems to regard the notion of Holmes managing to get him into a courtroom and exposing _everything_ as some amusing joke, while Moran can only fret over it all. Still Moriarty appears to view this whole situation as some manner of strange game.

“All right.” Moran stops his pacing and turns to face Moriarty again. “What then if Holmes realises he cannot convict us? What if he decides to make this matter far more personal? What then?”

Moriarty arches an eyebrow at this. “Are you saying that Sherlock Holmes is merely a common murderer?” And yet he does remember how Holmes behaved when he visited him in his rooms. Moriarty went alone and unarmed and yet still Holmes was jumpy as a wild cat and had kept a loaded pistol to hand, and his eyes... the pupils of his grey eyes had certainly seemed strangely dilated.

“I'm saying he ain't stable,” Moran points out. “Probably never has been, not really, and he takes cocaine regularly, and he's not been the same since that doctor _friend_ of his left him for a wife.” For Moran has persisted in doing his own investigating, trailing after Holmes, who has indeed spent increasing amounts of time alone since the marriage of Dr Watson, and Moran is no great admirer of the doctor, but he does suspect that Holmes was at least a little less unstable with Watson's close companionship than he is without him.

“Hmm,” Moriarty says, deep in thought, and after that Moran may as well not even be in the room with him any longer.

And soon word comes to them, courtesy of one of the youngsters in their pay who has been discreetly keeping an eye on Holmes also, that the detective is leaving for the continent – Watson accompanying him – and this would only seem to confirm further the man's erratic state of mind.

“Why leave now, when he believes he is on the brink of exposing us and bringing all of us down?” Moran asks. “Instead of presenting his evidence he flees like a coward. It makes no damned sense.”

“No, unless...” Moriarty runs his finger idly around the rim of his brandy glass, making a strange and eerie noise. “He wishes for me to follow him.”

Moran narrows his eyes at this. “No.” He knocks back his own brandy in a gulp and slams the glass down on the table so hard it is surprising it does not shatter.

“Perhaps we should leave London, England even, for a time, until this blows over.”

“All right then, we'll take a holiday somewhere; we do not chase after bloody Holmes!”

“I only wish to talk to him.”

“Right, because that achieved so much last time! All of your talk, all of your warnings, they've achieved _nothing_ with him! We should have killed him months back and 'ad done with it.” And he would do it now, he would, even risking Moriarty's wrath in the process, if that would save the Professor, except now he suspects it's far too late to just kill Holmes and get away with it, no matter how careful he is.

“I can make him see, Moran, that he and I... we are not so different.”

“Yeah both pig-headed with no sense of self-preservation!” Moran expects anger in response to this outburst, but Moriarty only laughs. Moran sighs as he strides over to stand before Moriarty. “Please, Professor.” He drops to his knees, practically bowing before him. “Let this go.”

“My dearest Moran.” Moriarty runs his fingers through Moran's hair, so gently Moran could almost weep, because the Professor is still so capable of tenderness towards him, and yet still he refuses to truly listen to Moran. It already almost feels as if... as if Moriarty is lost to Moran. “You know I cannot. If I do not sort this matter out face to face with him...” He trails off in mid-sentence, his train of thought seemingly forgotten. Idly he continues to pet Moran's head, like stroking a dog. “I am going to the continent, Sebastian,” he says at last. “So are you coming with me, or must I go alone?”

Moran, still kneeling, looks up at him, pain etched into his expression, and of course they both know before he speaks what his answer will be – Moran will never leave Moriarty, even when he is certain the Professor is hell-bent on a path of self-destruction for reasons Moran, lacking that same genius-level intellect, will likely never entirely understand. Perhaps it is something twined inexorably into the Professor's brain itself, some death instinct; perhaps the world was never truly meant to have a great mind like Moriarty's in it and ultimately he is doomed to destroy himself. “Sir,” he says, and swallows thickly. “Professor. _James_.” The name comes out as barely more than a whisper. “Why do you even need to ask?”

**Author's Note:**

> My portrayals of Moriarty and Moran are based heavily on Jared Harris and Paul Anderson but I am not following the events of the films at all in my stories. My storylines and timelines are canon-based, which I think is becoming especially obvious in this story collection now.


End file.
